


broken brittle bones grow back stronger

by surely_silly



Series: For Better, For Worse [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Hypervigilance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surely_silly/pseuds/surely_silly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>School's in session, and everyone has their own ways of coping.</p><p>(Or, the one where Wendy still works at the Mystery Shack, but isn't terribly interested in the Mysteries anymore.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	broken brittle bones grow back stronger

It's been a very long, and very boring morning.

 

 

Though, to be honest not much happens as a given. Sure, sometimes the Shack is bustling and bursting with customers, one fourth tourists and three fourths locals, t-shirts and other baubles selling like hotcakes. But as Mr. Pines likes to say, "You gotta keep some tricks up your sleeve, for the rainy days," as he's gluing together a mannequin's upper body to a rocking horse with its head chopped off, or some other 'attraction'.

Which, Wendy has to admit is true, to a degree.

With a sigh, she pops her gum, and leans back on the stool to the wall. It's an art to studiously ignore her backpack on the floor next to the wooden legs, thoughts on anything but the environmental exam she has in a week.

Ugh.

Another hours passes this way, though by then she's pillowed her arms atop the counter, eyes scrutinizing the stickers Mabel undoubtedly stuck to the cash register at some point. One may or may not be of that boy band from forever ago that she had loved. Wendy's pretty sure she saw the leader singer rifling through her trash just last week, a banana peel hanging from his mouth.

The greater, the harder the fall, she figures as she stretches, lips twitching in an aborted smile. Hand ghosting over the criss-crossing scars of her left arm. The feeling won't ever completely come back but.

He got what was his, boy oh boy _did he_ _._

It's thirty minutes later, one magazine crossword puzzle, gum-wad pressed beneath the register, and Where's Waldo later, that the broom closet at the end of the counter is opened.

 

 

 

From the inside.

 

 

 

 

Now, renovations aside, Wendy is pretty sure it's just your standard small space. Where Soos can put all his tools on neat shelves, or grab a bucket or whatever all from one convenient place. It's four walls of wood, no window.

Wendy palms her axe under the counter, right hand curling tight around the handle, just as a red-headed woman all but tumbles out, crashing hard onto the floor with a heavy _thump._

After everything, Wendy's got zilch on how to handle this. She's taken down tree giants and tyrannical triangles, and this is what stymies her? Go _figure._ But, that's what other people are for.

The woman lies still on the floor, breathing clearly, but otherwise inanimate. With skin that pale, she could have honestly been living in the broom closet for all Wendy knew. Weirder things have happened.

Quietly, Wendy gets up, axe in hand, and steps closer. She manages to get right up on the lady, and after a moment, she digs the toe of her shoe into the other redhead's side.

"Hey," she starts, tapping the jacket'd side with her foot," Look, hey? This is a store, not a lounge or bed and breakfast, so it'd be appreciated if you got up and left, maybe out the front door this time though."

 

 

 

Silence, then—

—a groan, and the woman's flipping over, startling Wendy.

 

 

 

"Wha—WHOA OKAY," she shrieks, hazel eyes wide, hands thrown up. "Please don't kill me Axe Wielding Murderer! I'm a lesbian, this is the wrong movie! I know not to go off alone!"

Wendy lowers her arm, and she vaguely sees that it's trembling. That she's trembling, breaths a little short. She steps back from the other woman, wary. Scrutinizing, looking for horns, looking for fangs. A third eye, perhaps.

"Sorry," she offers softly, and tucks her hair back behind an ear. "You surprised me."

The woman sits up, eyeing Wendy in turn. "Forgiven, I suppose," she says as her eyes start to wander. "Where am I?"

"The Mystery Shack, eighth wonder of the world," Wendy repeats obediently, suddenly tired, axe heavy in her hand.

"No I meant, where like what ci—" she starts, and then stops, eyes going if possible wider than before,"—is... is that a life sized statue of Jar Jar Binks?"

Following her gaze, the ugly creature stands hidden almost in a corner, adorned in a puma shirt, sunglasses, and flyaway sunhat. A past attraction, Taxidermy alien visitor if memory is serving right. It had brought in quite the crowd.

She shrugs, and it's here the woman gets up, seemingly torn. "I—You said something like this is a store? How much is he?"

"Two hundred and fifty bucks," Wendy replies, because she's allowed to set prices now, and this is getting almost too ridiculous for her to want to care about. What even is a Jar Jar Binks?

"Expensive," the woman mumbles, patting her pockets, and then shakes her head. "No, no, okay. Where am I? City, state? Country?"

Wendy has taken back to sitting by now, the adrenaline from before all but dissipated. "Gravity Falls, Oregon," she answers blandly, if only marginally relieved she isn't asked about worlds or dimensions. There would certainly be something of a mess made to clean up later if she was.

Nodding, the lady shoots one last glance at the statue before going back over to the broom closet door. It's then that Wendy notices the key stuck in the lock as it's put away in a back pocket.

Curious. But, not nearly enough interest can be given.

Coming back around to the counter, the woman gives her what she must think is a winning smile. "So, okay, name's Charlie, and I would absolutely be in your _debt_ if you'd let me use your phone."

"Sure," Wendy lies, smiles, and kicks the panel at the base of the counter.

'Charlie' disappears into the basement's containment with a yelp, the cash register 'service line starts here' mat dropping away. It clicks back into place a moment later, and Wendy finally reaches down to dig into her backpack.

It's only to get another piece of gum, and another magazine.

Her shift doesn't end for another two hours after all, and she doubts there'll be any more excitement for the slow Saturday, since they all leave the new supernatural critters to Mr. Pines 2.0 and Dipper.

 

 

 

 

 

Wendy's honestly had enough of all of that.

She's good with what they already have.


End file.
